The Quiet Things No One Ever Knows
by hieress
Summary: they're still human, after all. Cato/Clove


He cares._ He fucking cares_. It seems like some sort of joke that took him really long to understand. Not because of his stupidity but the_ joke's_ stupidity.

Of course, he realizes this when he's running to the only person he ever would care about, the same person bathed in a pool of blood and dying.

—-

She doesn't really know why she screams his name. It seems so pathetic, especially in front of Twelve and Eleven. Especially because she was always so tough. But she does, until her voice is hoarse and she almost cannot scream and the scent of blood - _her _blood - which doesn't bother her mostly is almost overwhelming.

Maybe she screams his name because she want another whiff of his scent that smells like home and is hopefully still there, not overpowered by the scent of blood, too. Maybe it's because deep down, she was really, really scared and he was the only one around. Maybe she screams his name simply because she needs him.

—-

He volunteered mostly because it would be the last year he would've been eligible and it would have been a shame if he didn't go.

But maybe, deep, deep, deep in the back of his mind, something's whispering for him that his should go to protect that girl - the one on the stage, who, to others, might seem calm and casual and bored, but to him, looks like she's about to flip out, any moment now - he could see parts of her body tensing. She's small, maybe five, six or seven inches shorter than him. Maybe he was volunteering to help _her _which is pretty stupid considering he will kill her sooner.

—-

She tries to hold on, to stay, wait for him before she finally goes. She really tries.

—-

He runs faster, faster than he ever has. Even though all he's supposed to hear is the wind rushing by his face, her voice is still ringing in his ears, calling his name.

—-

She's scared. She wouldn't admit it, of course, but she's scared. It's unbelievable that she's up on the stage – after all, her family's one of the richest in the district, so she only has to sign up for five tesserae and she knew at least a dozen who'd signed up for more than ten, but it was her name that's been printed on that paper that the host had read.

She was trained not to show all emotion, especially fear, and she tries hard to do it but she seems to have forgotten. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she's trying to connive herself that there is nothing to fear about, she's great with knives and very stealthy and she's very resourceful. She will leave the arena alive, surely.

The Arena. The Hunger Games. She'd be participating there and – _Oh God, she was reaped._

_—-_

They were the only two now.

Maybe it was a good time to break the alliance.

But she's sleeping and he's on guard.

She's _sleeping._ He's on guard – _awake._

Surely she's not that stupid? He could stab her right now and she wouldn't know it. But she's holding the hilt of her knife; she could (_would) _probably slash that across his neck as soon as the tip of his spear made contact with her skin and done by the time _she's _done.

But why is she doing this? Does she think that just because they're on the same district, he wouldn't skewer her? Very idiotic of her.

But she thinks as he just sits there until she's awake that _he_ was the idiot here.

—-

He asks her why he sleeps while he's awake.

She asks him why he didn't kill her.

That shut him up.

"I'll have to kill you sooner or later, though."

"But no, no, you won't."

He nods slowly. "No, no I won't."

She hesitates and then she says to him in a whisper: "I'll tell you a secret – neither will I."

—-

They can go back home together now.

_Together._

Wow.

It almost sounds like one of the secret fantasies the delusional part of her would think of. But it's real. She heard Claudius Templesmith. When she looks at the boy beside her, she's sure she wasn't imagining it.

—-

No longer would they come home together. He knows it, even as he's cradling her into her arms and begging her to just _please, please_ stay with him.

No longer would he be able to leave this Arena, at least, not wholly.

He wasn't exactly sure when she became a part of his life, for him to think like that, but she did and she became a rather big part.

—-

She can hear him. Pleading for her to stay. She wants to, really, she does. But it hurts far too much and he's here now, anyway.

One more thing to do.

She's brought closer to his neck and she can still smell it. _Home._ Very faint, but it's still there.

Very faint, about to go, but still there for a moment.

Just like her.

—-

He doesn't cry. He's too tired to. Besides, he's got a man to kill. He's got a girl to avenge for.

—-

When Thresh's body is under his feet and the blood is painting his clothes and his shoes and his skin red, he feels even more empty. A little victorious, maybe, but still, empty. Looks like he's got no purpose on this planet anymore.

Should he kill the other tributes, then go back home? He's not sure he's like that, quite honestly. He'd seen the victors in his district who'd gone crazy, and others just seem like a body, an empty shell with no soul and heart inside. He'd be one of them, at least, after he gets used with the torturing nightmares - maybe of _her_ dying in various ways or maybe her voice crying out for him. The possibilities are too many but they'd only revolve around _her._

—-

He's dying, he's dying, he's dying. He had been for the last few days - or hours?

He can hear flesh and skin and sometimes bones ripping and screams. They all belong to him.

Later, he'd no strength for screaming so there's only groaning and moaning and whimpering and the mutt's growls.

One of the mutts look at him and he sees that its eyes are exactly like hers, but the thought is almost as painful as his whole body being chewed and ripped apart that he pushes it away. He looks at the archer from Twelve, hoping she'd get the message.

When she lifts her bow and an arrow impales itself on his head, he's glad.

_—-_

_The dog days are over_

_The dog gays are gone_

___—-_

_**A/N:** _In my head canon, this ship is dark and almost impossible for love, but they're home to each other in the arena. But then I'm like, the fluff queen and I can't resist. I'm sorry, don't eat me. Also if it seems kind of mucked up for you, the timeline's not exactly in order.

_**Disclaimer:**_ I am a female and Suzzane Collins is a female. Therefore I am Suzzane Collins and I own The Hunger Games. Just kidding buttholes.


End file.
